


No, Stop Talking Like That

by abelrunner



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #this is my design, Accents, Crack, Drunken Shenanigans, Either Or, F/M, Gen, Maybe - Freeform, My First Work in This Fandom, Or maybe he's just a jealous bitch, You could say Hannibal has some one-sided attraction, if you wanted to, you could take it seriously but you'd be weird for doing so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abelrunner/pseuds/abelrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal takes Will to the symphony. Will gets drunk. Will does not sound like Will when Will is drunk. Hannibal does not like Drunk Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No, Stop Talking Like That

Will tugged awkwardly at his tie, glanced at his watch. Fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket, checked his watch again. Looked up at the watch on the wall in Hannibal’s kitchen and fidgeted some more.

“I don’t think it fits.” He called out. “It doesn’t feel right.” 

“It fits exactly right, Will. That’s why it feels different.” Will rolled his shoulders and tugged at the sleeve again. 

He had to admit that the doctor had a point. It’s not as if Will was some sort of suit connoisseur. What did he know?

_Jesus, why was he even here?_

When Hannibal had first pitched the idea of going to the symphony, Will had honestly thought it was a joke. His psychiatrist/friend had not appreciated the laughter.

“Music has a healing effect on the mind,” he’d said evenly as Will regained his composure. “At least, the right kind of music does. Have you ever been to a symphony?”

“Uh, no, I can’t say that I have.”

“There’s one a few weeks from now. You’ll need a suit.”

Hannibal mentioned the idea to Alana, and suddenly she was going to the symphony too, and pitching in for a suit and the two blabbered on about colors and patterns while Will stood there awkwardly, vaguely hoping to blink and suddenly find himself in his house four hours from now.

And no one had listened when Will had protested that he did, in fact, own a suit. Probably just as well, considering that Hannibal and Alana would have likely raked him backwards across the coals for the state that suit was in, and chances were that even in the prime of its life, it wouldn’t have been up to snuff.

Will had spent the days before the actual event wondering what would happen if he just cancelled. He decided that it wasn’t worth Alana’s wrath.

Hannibal entered the room, looking as sleek and at ease as ever. He eyed Will shrewdly.

“It fits,” he said, with an air of unquestionable certainty. He zeroed in on Will’s tie and sighed. “That’s not how you tie a tie, Will.” Before Will could respond, Hannibal crossed the room and deftly began undoing about five minutes of work. “Alana and I didn’t get you into this suit so you could ruin the effect by tying your tie like a teenage boy going to a dance.”

Will scowled at Hannibal’s hands, refusing to even quietly acknowledge the point. _My knot was fine._

“There.” Will felt the collar of his shirt get pressed down, and then Hannibal tugged at the lapels of suit, straightening them. The tie felt ridiculously tight.

“I can dress myself.” Will muttered, backing away from the hands and buttoning the jacket.

“Clearly.” Before Will could think up a retort, the phone rang. Hannibal held up a finger as he answered it.

“Alana, you’re late,” he said. Will took his time with the last button, listening. “Oh, well... that’s unfortunate. Will will be so disappointed.” Will looked up sharply. “.... Really? You don’t mind? … Thank you, Alana. That’s very kind.” Hannibal glanced at Will, who was starting to get a sinking feeling. “Good luck.” Will watched him hang up, feeling nervous. 

“Alana will not be joining us,” Hannibal said with a touch of disappointment. “She’s been caught in traffic. But,” he said quickly, before Will could do more than open his mouth to say _oh shucks well guess the night’s off then._ “She insists that we go without her. She doesn’t want the suit to go to waste.” Will groaned. “Enough of that, Will. Come on, we’ll be late if we stand around much longer.” 

\--

The symphony was actually very lovely. At least, the actual symphony part. Hannibal had neglected to mention that the symphony was actually a small part of some big charity benefit that required _socialization._ A benefit for hunger relief.

Hannibal looked at the banner as if there was something funny about it. As if there was some secret joke involved that only he knew about.

Not for the first time, Will wondered what went on in his friend’s head. And not for the first time, he figured it was probably better to remain ignorant.

After the symphony, everyone _mingled_ , which might as well have been “danced barefoot on broken glass and salt” for all the enthusiasm Will could muster for it. Hannibal tried to introduce him to a few people, but it got to the point where he just sighed and said, “Will, why don’t you go eat something?” And if there was a part of Will that felt a bit bad about disappointing Hannibal, it was smothered by the waves of relief that washed over him as he hurried away to the buffet.

The buffet had alcohol, and Will definitely needed a drink.

All there was was champagne, in fancy, slender glasses, which wasn’t really Will’s preference as far as drinking went, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

Despite the fact that Will stuck close to the table, most of the people who passed by ignored him, which was fine. _Sip the champagne until it’s time to go, thank Hannibal for the lovely evening, go home, take off the suit, feed the dogs, go to bed._

He was so focused on the new game plan that it took a moment to realize that someone had been standing next to him for longer than necessary.

He glanced over, startled.

Both of them were standing with their backs to the wall, looking out over the party and the guests, so at least she hadn’t been obviously expecting conversation. She held a glass of champagne and sipped it, smiling slightly.

And she was very pretty, to be frank. Average height, but slender, with honey colored hair and gray eyes, in a silver dress that was quite flattering. She glanced at him and smiled a little wider.

“Not a party person, huh?” She asked. Will looked away and swallowed what was left of his own champagne in one great gulp.

“Uh, no, not really,” he said with a small laugh, reaching behind him to grab another drink. “That obvious?”

“Ehhh.” She made a so-so hand gesture, and Will smiled rather sheepishly. “You’re with Dr. Lecter?”

“Yeah, he’s a...” He took another over-large swig of champagne. “A friend.” The woman nodded slowly, then shifted the glass in her fingers. 

“I’ve never met him myself,” she said. “But he comes to a lot of these. Never with a friend though.” Will shrugged.

“The fact I’m here proves there’s a first time for everything,” he said dryly, and she laughed.

“My name is Molly,” she said, hold out her free hand. 

“Will,” he replied as they shook.

_This is a woman that is not Alana or Katz and I’m talking to her and it’s going well._

_Surprising._

He took another swig of champagne.

\--

Hannibal hadn’t seen Will for almost forty-five minutes and that was worrying.

He’d expected the man to come to him eventually, if only to ask when they were leaving. 

But there had been nothing.

Hannibal bid farewell to the other guests and hurried towards the buffet table.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Will leaning nonchalantly against a table and chatting with a lovely blonde was not it.

Will held a half-empty glass of champagne in one hand, and was gesturing broadly with the other, smiling. Hannibal had seen Will’s feeble attempts at smiling before. They’d always looked more like shards of broken glass: jagged and fragile and painful. This was bright and genuine, and the lady next to him was laughing.

_Drugged, perhaps. Or having an episode._

His suspicions were confirmed once he got close enough to hear Will talking.

He froze, horrified. After spending several seconds in an uncharacteristic state of absolute shock, he pulled his phone out and dialed Alana Bloom’s number.

_“Hannibal! How was the symphony?”_

“Lovely. They played Tchaikovsky.” Hannibal said shortly, staring at Will as he talked. Neither he nor his lovely conversation partner had noticed him. 

_“Oh, that’s nice. You love Tchaikovsky.”_

“I think Will may be having some sort of stroke.”

_“I.... **what?!** ”_

“Or perhaps he’s speaking in tongues. Will!” Will looked up and looked almost comically pleased to see Hannibal, much to the blonde’s amusement, but before any introductions could occur, Hannibal shoved his cellphone into Will’s hand. “Say hello to Alana.”

“Hallo, Alana!” Will drawled into the phone. “Ya missed a gud pahty. No beea, tho. Shame.” He jerked away from the cellphone abruptly, blinking at it for a few moments before handing it back to Hannibal. “Um.... Ah think she wahnts to tahlk to ya.” 

“See?” Hannibal said pointedly, taking the cellphone from Will and speaking to Alana once more.

_“Rude, Hannibal! Ridiculously, outrageously rude! Is that your idea of a joke?!”_

“I don’t know what you mean!” Hannibal said defensively. Alana sounded furious.

_“He’s just drunk, Hannibal. He’s not having a stroke. He’s not gripped by heavenly inspiration. He’s drunk.”_

“I know what drunk sounds like-” Hannibal started, but Alana interrupted him. (rude)

_“And when Will’s drunk, he speaks in his natural accent.”_

“I beg your pardon?”

 _“Will’s from Louisiana, Hannibal. You didn’t ever think it was a little strange that a man who grew up in the South sounded like he was from the Northeast?”_ Hannibal said nothing. _“Are you done?”_

“Yes.”

_“Good night, Hannibal.”_

“Good night, Alana.” Hannibal hung up, then looked up at Will, who was watching Hannibal with owlish, drunken amusement.

“So, you brought this Southern gentleman to us, Dr. Lecter?” The blonde asked, sounding a moment away from laughing. She was a relatively familiar, admittedly quite pretty, face. Hannibal remembered her from past banquets and balls and benefits, but he’d never gotten her name. Now, he was quite sure he’d never want it.

“He wasn’t Southern when I found him.” Hannibal said. It had been an attempt at humor, but had ended up sounding almost petulant. “Will, I’m afraid it’s time to go. Say good-bye to your companion.”

“But the pahty just got gud!” Will said with a grin. Hannibal resisted the urge to smack him.

“It _is_ getting late,” the woman said with a matching smile. “Here.” She took his hand in hers ( _nonono_ ) and fished a sharpie out of her purse. She scribbled something onto Will’s hand, Will giggling and twitching his fingers as he did so. It reminded Hannibal of a pair of stupid young teenagers.

“Sahrry, _cher_ ,” Will said when she released his wrist from her grip. “Ah’m a bit ticklish.” She smiled.

“That’s my number. You can call me anytime.” She winked and walked away, leaving Will to cradle the inked hand with a dreamy expression and Hannibal to glare with even more suspicion. 

In metallic silver ink was the name _Molly_ followed by the requisite digits and a little heart on the heel of his hand. Hannibal felt somewhat ill.

He wondered if there was a way to discreetly wash that ink away. Judging from the look on Will’s face, Will wouldn’t allow it without a fight. But perhaps if Hannibal, say, shoved him into a cold shower in the name of sobering Will up...

It was something to ponder. 

“A nice pahty,” Will said cheerfully. “Good whateva this is.”

“Champagne.” Hannibal said in suffering tones. “Come on, Will. I think it’s time to get you into bed.”

“Ya su’e?” Will asked, batting at Hannibal’s shoulder chummily. “Ah think Ah could manage sum convasation now.”

“I’m sure.” Hannibal replied in a tone that was meant to simply be firm but instead bordered on icy. Will looked rather hurt.

“Ahright, ahright...” he said, appearing for all the world as if he was attempting to impersonate a viciously kicked puppy. Hannibal took a deep breath and let it out through clenched teeth.

“God, give me strength...” he growled, leading a dangerously swaying Will out the door. Will sniffed in an exaggeratedly superior fashion.

“Like you kin’ complain,” he said. “‘Least Ah’s speakin’ English.” Hannibal briefly wondered if all he’d had to do to make Will snap completely was to get him drunk, before realizing that he’d accidentally lapsed into his native Lithuanian. 

“Debatable,” he muttered, still in Lithuanian. Will didn’t dignify the statement with a response. 

\--

Will was blissfully quiet on the drive back. Hannibal wasn’t entirely sure why Will’s drunken Southern drawl made him want to strangle him, but it did, and Hannibal would rather avoid strangling Will. At least for the time being. 

So Will just sat in the passengers seat, smiling dreamily and occasionally staring at the silver name and number inscribed on his hand, and Hannibal drove, tensely waiting for a sound to come out of Will’s mouth and make him swerve into oncoming traffic.

“Ah ya mad at me?” Will asked suddenly. Hannibal’s hands clenched on the wheel.

“Of course not,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“Ya naht talkin’ much.” Will said. “Or at all.” Hannibal shrugged.

“I’m not talkative after a symphony.” He said, which wasn’t exactly something Will could refute, being drunk and having never been to a symphony with Hannibal before. There was the obvious fact that Hannibal hadn’t had any difficulty speaking to the numerous guests for the hour or so between the actual symphony and this drive, but Will’s brain was too clogged with alcohol to make that deductive leap, so he just shrugged and accepted the explanation. 

“That’s gud,” he said. “Ah was worried.” Another minute of silence, then, “Didja have fun?”

“... Yes,” Hannibal said slowly. “I... suppose.” He glanced at Will from the corner of his eye. “I’m to assume you did as well?”

“Molly seems nahce,” Will drawled cheerfully, nodding. Hannibal let the statement pass without comment.

Normally he would have taken the cue to attempt to manipulate, to instill doubt. But Will was so drunk that tonight would likely be a blur tomorrow, so it would be a wasted effort on Hannibal’s part.

In addition, he didn’t feel masochistic enough to submit himself to that accent any more than absolutely necessary, and he knew that Drunken Will was more likely to argue than Sober Will.

Will unbuckled himself as Hannibal pulled into the driveway. 

“Well,” Will said with a foolish grin. “Wish me luck!”

“I’m sorry?” Hannibal said blankly.

“Gunna drive home,” Will laughed.

“Perhaps that’s not a good idea...” Hannibal said. He could make a lot of things work in his long term goals for Will, but Will killing himself in a massive, fiery car crash wasn’t one of them.

“Ah’ll be fahn!” Will chirped. 

He tumbled face first out of the car, hitting the gravel with a dull thud and a groan.

“Okay, maybe naht...”

Hannibal took several deep breaths before climbing out and walking around to help Will up.

“Just di’t,” Will said with a drunken grin, referring to the mess the ground had made of the front of his suit. “It’ll wash out.” 

_Oh, just stab me in the stomach, Will. It’ll hurt less._ Hannibal did _not_ say in pained tones as he half-carried, half-dragged Will into the house. His younger friend made a few feeble attempts to walk, but ultimately gave up once Hannibal got the door unlocked. 

Will cackled as Hannibal pulled his shoes off. “I’ wasn’t this bad befo’a,” he laughed. “Can’t even stand uhp!” Hannibal rolled his eyes as Will laughed like the whole situation was the funniest thing in the world. Hannibal got him out of his jacket, folded it, and began working on Will’s tie. 

“Ah you seducin’ me, Hannibal Lecta?” Will laughed, leaning back on his elbows. Hannibal bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep from laughing in Will’s face. The accent was starting to becoming something resembling endearing, but the sudden image of Will as a coquettish Southern Belle nearly shattered his otherwise impeccable composure. Perhaps he’d had a bit too much to drink as well.

“I assure you, I’m not.” He placed the tie on the coffee table as Will flopped back onto the couch.

“Ya could if ya wanted,” he said with a grin. Hannibal felt his face nearly twitch into something resembling a smile.

“And what of the lovely Molly?” he asked, playing along. Will considered that.

“Could be ou’a secret,” he replied. Hannibal laughed softly and shook his head.

“Go to sleep, Will. You’ll regret this in the morning.”

“Oh, will Ah?” Will said, holding up the hand with the number on it and waving it about as Hannibal walked away.

_A fair point._

\--

Hannibal was halfway through cooking breakfast for himself and Will when he heard his young friend rush from the living room to the bathroom. About five minutes later, Will stumbled into the kitchen and sat down at the island, looking somewhat haggard.

“Not feeling well this morning?” Hannibal asked, trying to keep his smugness to a minimum.

“Wha’ hahppened last night?” Will asked, and Hannibal swallowed hard.

“You got drunk.” _Please stop talking like that._

“Drunk?”

“Yes. On champagne.” _Please stop talking like that._

“Oh.” Will ran his fingers through his hair furiously, as if trying to scrub something away. “Wahs it bad?” 

“Not very.” _Please stop talking like that._

“Gud.” Will rubbed as his face. “Was’ cookin’?”

 _Scrambled eggs and homemade sausage._ “Please stop talking like that.

“Like waht?” Will said, but seemed to come to a realization a moment after. “Liiike.... Oh.” He turned bright red. “Ah’ll uh.... be right back.” He hurried off, and Hannibal heard the bathroom door close.

_Please wash your hands._

When Will stumbled back into the kitchen, he was staring at his hand.

“Who’s Molly?” He asked, sounding like Will again and not some stranger from Louisiana. “And why is her number written on my hand?” The vowels seemed to sit uncomfortably in his mouth, and the r’s got a bit more attention than was necessary, but they appeared all the same, and Hannibal smiled despite the fact that the number was still there.

“A young lady you met the other night,” he answered, placing the eggs and sausage on warm plates. “She seemed quite taken with you. And you with her, though I only witnessed the conversation after you’d consumed what was likely a great deal of alcohol.”

“Oh god....” Will looked rather sick, and not just because of the hangover. “What did I do?”

“I came rather late to the conversation,” Hannibal said, placing a plate and a cup of coffee in front of Will. “But to all appearances, it seems as if you acted charming and were a sparkling conversationalist.” Will stared, utterly flummoxed, then scowled.

“You’re making fun of me,” he muttered, taking a bite of eggs and sausage.

“I assure you, I’m not.” He paused, hesitated. “Are you going to call her?”

Will shrugged uncomfortably and stuffed some egg into his mouth, chewing with deliberate slowness. He was avoiding a straight answer, which was understandable.... if worrying. Hannibal would have preferred assurance that nothing would come of it, but perhaps that was asking too much.

“Do you even remember what she looks like?” Will gave him a _look_ in response, so perhaps that had given away a bit too much. Will scowled down into the eggs as he chewed, and Hannibal could just see him calling her out of spite. He watched Will swallow his eggs.

“Yes,” he said, with an air of irritable finality. “I remember what she looks like.” There was a lengthy pause, but before Hannibal could break it, the doorbell rang. 

It was Alana, who had come to apologize in person for not being able to make it. Hannibal mentioned the number written on Will’s hand, thinking he would receive support. Perhaps it was a pipedream, considering the sheer number of times that Alana had looked to him for support and received none whatsoever, but Hannibal was nothing if not an optimist.

Like all optimists, his hopes and dreams were dashed almost instantly.

“You should call her!” Alana said cheerfully. Will looked surprised, then thoughtful, even confused.

“You think so?” Hannibal got the impression that he almost wanted her not to want him to call the woman, but Alana smiled and nodded.

“I think it’d be good for you.” Will looked at the number again with something like interest as Alana stole a sausage from his plate.

“Maybe I will,” he said, with a tone that made Hannibal’s jaw clench.

\--

He saw them two weeks later, as he left a grocery store. They were sitting at an outside table, sipping coffee and eating pie, laughing.

_Laughing._

Hannibal debated going over, but decided against it. He wasn’t sure why. He watched them as he went to his car; Will glancing at her when she wasn’t looking, her tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling shyly. 

How sad it would be, Hannibal thought as he got into his car, if something terrible happened to Molly.

How.

Very.

_Sad._


End file.
